


Repartee

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [89]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 03:16:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “You have gotten way too sarcastic since we got engaged,” Jared says. “For the record.”“I don’t know where I learned it,” Bryce says, all snotty about it, and Jared is torn between whacking him and kissing his stupid snide face, so he does both, catching Bryce’s offended ‘ow’ with his mouth.





	Repartee

When Bryce comes into town — and the Flames, but Jared is focused more on the Bryce part — Jared’s played only four of the first seven games, and he’s not sure if he’s going to be in the line-up for this one. It might be better if he isn’t; he’s been able to be a little more offensive since opening night, but Bryce is on a roll, as are the Flames in general, and it feels like the kind of game they’re going to be on the back foot for again. Jared’s not a defensive liability or anything — scouting even went so far as to say he was ‘defensively responsible’ — but he wants to show them what he can do when they’re pushing forward. Needs to, if he wants them to keep him up, and he hasn’t played badly, but he hasn’t recorded more than that single point either.

They’ve still got the same problem about carving out private space that they did when Bryce was last in town, unfortunately. Jared isn’t ready to start looking for a place, not when things are so up in the air, and he can’t just request a single room when it’s on the Oilers’ dime, so he books them a hotel room for the night the Flames are staying over. Apparently his policy on sleaziness disappears once he hits a certain point of settling with his hand and unfortunately rare Skype dates because of Julius and some clashing schedules. 

Jared can put a price on getting laid, and it is mortification at himself and one hundred and forty dollars, which makes him wince, because it’s like, literally just for a bed to fuck on. Even though he’s pulling in big money at the moment, he hasn’t spent it on anything but meals — and even then he hasn’t spent more than his per diem — and paying Bryce back for training, since he doesn’t know if he’ll be making AHL salary in the coming weeks. Bryce would probably get them something fancier, but whatever, they’re barely going to notice it anyway. If Bryce was willing to find a fucking _bathroom_ to fuck in, he can handle a non-elite hotel room.

“That chain sucks,” Bryce whines when Jared forwards the booking info to him.

“It’s got privacy and a bed,” Jared says. “Pretty sure that’s all we need.”

“A crappy bed,” Bryce says.

“You’re welcome to sleep in the room the Flames booked you instead,” Jared says.

“Jared,” Bryce says, still whiny.

“I’ll cancel and book a motel instead,” Jared threatens. “The cheapest one I can find.”

“You wouldn’t,” Bryce says.

“I’ve literally stayed in dozens,” Jared says. Dub budget isn’t exactly the same as the NHL, and sometimes that’s what you get. Which means Bryce has stayed in dozens too, but give him a bajillion dollar contract and he forgets his roots. “It wouldn’t even bug me.”

Bryce is mute in his approval after that.

*

“I’m staying at a friend’s tonight,” Jared tells Julius when the Flames fly in. Part of that is like, roommate courtesy, part of that is the terrible thought of Julius thinking he’s missing and like, raising the Oilers alarm. And then all of him is concern that Julius will ask who the friend is and it’ll all come spilling out of his mouth because he had Raf at camp, and Chaz on the Hitmen, Sam too, and here he has, well. Julius, and he likes the guy, but he’s just so fucking inscrutable Jared can’t be sure if he trusts him with it yet. Like, trust him to keep it between them? Absolutely, guy barely says anything. Trust it not to mess things up? Jury’s out.

He swears the look in Julius’ eye is a disbelieving ‘you have friends?’, but maybe he’s just imagining it.

“Cool, room by myself,” Julius says.

“Don’t trash it,” Jared says, and Julius rolls his eyes at him, which: fair. Guy’s the kind of person who’ll frown and fix it if his shoes aren’t neatly in a row. Plus Jared’s like, his only friend here. If Julius would even deign to refer to him as a friend.

Honestly Jared doesn’t have to leave for the hotel for like, an hour, but he’s pretty sure he’ll be bouncing around like a kid on Christmas Eve, all nervous energy, and then Julius might just have to kill him, so he heads out early, stews in that nervous energy in the room, bouncing his knee and checking his phone every ten seconds to see if Bryce texted him.

It’s weirdly hilarious, how illicit it feels waiting for Bryce in a hotel room, like they’re having an tawdry affair or something, rather than, you know, literally engaged to be married. Bryce texts him when he gets to the Flames’ hotel, right on schedule, but Jared’s already been there for half an hour by then. 

Jared flops back on the bed and sighs, because he knows it’ll probably be another half hour at least before Bryce can duck away. Bryce was right: the mattress isn’t great. Jared’s apparently gotten too used to four star hotels or something. Their bed at home probably didn’t help, being made of clouds and magic.

Fuck, Jared misses his bed. First thing he’s doing if he stays up and gets his own place is asking Bryce what brand the mattress is and buying one himself. It’s probably disgustingly expensive, but he doesn’t even care. He wants his bed. And yeah, he’s sure a lot of that is wanting all this to be Calgary, wanting to still be living with Bryce, but. Won’t hurt to have a nice mattress. Bryce’ll be happy when he visits, and he’s threatened to come down whenever he’s got a few off-days strung in a row. Or like. Promised. It’s less of a threat than an incentive to get an apartment as soon as things are settled.

Jared’s chain has fallen out of his shirt, and he considers before unhooking it, sliding the ring on. It feels good, right. Also like, less illicit, weirdly, when he’s wearing it. So what if he’s probably going to jump Bryce the second he opens the door, they’re _engaged_ , he’s allowed. Not that it stopped them when they weren’t engaged, but whatever.

He’s not wrong about jumping Bryce when he opens the door. Bryce manages to get out ‘hi’ before Jared isn’t letting him say anything else, and basically the second the door’s shut they hit the bed.

Jared would like to say good things about their finesse and stamina round one, but he can’t, because it lasts like four minutes and is messy as fuck. He’s not complaining or anything, it’s just neither of their finest moments, though like, it’s a perfectly satisfying moment in itself.

You’d think Jared would have learned not to shower with Bryce by now — the shower in the hotel room isn’t any bigger than the one in their apartment, and they still have very different opinions on water temperature — but apparently getting intermittent, too hot water sprayed at him isn’t the worst thing if it means he has a wet Bryce plastered against him, available for kissing and groping. By the time they get out they’re infinitesimally cleaner and like, definitely ready for round two, and Jared has the sudden urge to shove Bryce onto the bed and just like, swallow his dick, and he doesn’t hear any objections from Bryce when he gives into said urge.

Well, actually he does, Bryce with a strained, “Jared,” after a couple minutes, and then, when Jared ignores him, a nudge to his shoulder he also ignores. He’s busy. “Jared,” Bryce says again, and then flicks him in the ear.

“Rude,” Jared says, pulling off. “I was doing something.”

“If I don’t come with your dick in me I’m going to be so mad at you,” Bryce says.

“Oh no, you’ll be mad at me,” Jared says, but it’s not like he doesn’t want to fuck Bryce, so he’s not going to argue about it. “Lube?”

Bryce leans over the bed, grabbing his jacket and pulling a little bottle of lube out of the breast pocket.

Jared stares at him.

“What?” Bryce asks.

“That’s so sketch,” Jared says. “What, did you go on the plane like that?”

“Nah, I forgot to pack some,” Bryce says. “I stopped to grab it on the way here.”

“You, Bryce Marcus, The Enemy, bought lube in Edmonton,” Jared says. “What if an Oilers fan had seen?”

Bryce shrugs. “Guys use lube to jerk off, it’s whatever,” he says, and he’s not actually wrong, but like — a year ago Bryce would never have done it _anywhere_ , so paranoid someone would see him and think ‘that’s definitely for gay sex’, let alone in Edmonton. He would only buy it online at first, and now he’s shrugging and no big dealing it. 

It’s really weird, the things that make Jared like, proud of him. 

“What?” Bryce asks self-consciously.

“Nothing,” Jared says. “Gimme.”

Bryce tosses it at him, does this little like, ‘oh I’m so hot’ pose on the bed Jared should make fun of him for. He really, really should. He doesn’t, though, because Bryce _is_ stupid hot.

Bryce is always pretty noisy when Jared fingers him now that he’s let go of his stoic ‘having fingers in my ass is unmanly’ thing or whatever, which is great for the ego, but Jared is suddenly very paranoid about the thickness of the walls. Whatever. Fuck ‘em. Jared paid for the room, they can deal.

Once Bryce is ready — and by that Jared means when _he_ deems Bryce ready, because if Bryce had his way that would have been like, a billion years ago, the way he’s complaining, like he’s not loudly enjoying the process — Jared kisses the soft pale inside of his thigh, slicks himself, hopes with sudden feeling the bed isn’t the kind that creaks.

“I want you to know I’m doing this for my team,” Jared tells Bryce. “You know, taking out the top scorer. It’s sabotage.”

“You’re sabotaging me with your dick?” Bryce asks.

“Yeah,” Jared says.

“Can you hurry up with the sabotage, then?” Bryce asks. “We have to sleep at some point. I have a game tomorrow.”

“You have gotten way too sarcastic since we got engaged,” Jared says. “For the record.”

“I don’t know where I learned it,” Bryce says, all snotty about it, and Jared is torn between whacking him and kissing his stupid snide face, so he does both, catching Bryce’s offended ‘ow’ with his mouth.

“I really love you,” Jared says, forehead against Bryce’s, and Bryce’s face is just — it’s insane how easy Jared can read it, how open it is. Bryce doesn’t need to say it back — it’s written all over it.

“I really love you too,” Bryce says anyway, soft, then, “ _Jared_.”

“Yes, okay, I’ll fuck you, you’re so impatient,” Jared says.

“Finally,” Bryce starts, but Jared’s pretty gratified by the way it trails off into something almost breathless when Jared presses inside him, and he’s quiet after that. Well. No, not quiet, like, at all, but there’s absolutely zero sarcasm coming out of his mouth, and none of the ‘Jared’s that come out of his mouth sound anything like complaint.

“Good sabotage?” Bryce asks, when Jared comes back from the bathroom, slightly cleaner and with a wash cloth for Bryce.

“I feel like I didn’t do a good enough job if you’re being sarcastic again,” Jared says.

“Great job,” Bryce says, with a thumbs up, and it would probably be a sarcastic thumbs up from anyone else, but from Bryce it’s cheerfully sincere.

“Dork,” Jared says, and throws the cloth at him, yawning and crawling into bed while Bryce squawks at him and then sulkily cleans himself up, tossing it on the carpet. Jared should get up and bring it back to the bathroom, but he’s too lazy right now.

“You’re wearing your ring,” Bryce says, sounding pleased.

“Only took you two rounds to notice,” Jared says.

“I was looking at other parts of you,” Bryce says. “I like it on you.”

“I mean, I’d hope so,” Jared says. “Pretty sure this was a no takebacks kind of purchase.”

“No takebacks,” Bryce agrees. “I was thinking of getting one too.”

“What, a ring?” Jared asks. 

“Yeah,” Bryce says. “Like, I’ve got the necklace, but I can’t like, wear it on my finger, you know?”

“Not that you can anyway,” Jared says.

“Yeah, but like, I could around the apartment and stuff,” Bryce says. “I just think it’d be — nice, with you not around and all, to have that, you know?”

“And when you inevitably forget and accidentally wear it to practice or a game?” Jared asks.

“I’d just say I thought that was my right hand and everyone would believe me,” Bryce says. “They all think I’m pretty stupid.”

“Bryce,” Jared says. “I’m sure they don’t—” 

He actually isn’t, based on the things he’s heard from Bryce, from Chaz. From the media, too, and he knows media opinion isn’t necessarily the same as what guys in the room will say about you, but then there’s the stuff from Bryce and Chaz, so.

“No, they do,” Bryce says. “It’s whatever.”

Jared chews his lip. “We can pick one out if you want,” he says. “Like, online, or. Unless you want to pick it yourself.”

“Nah,” Bryce says. “I picked the one for you, you know? You should pick for me.”

“Okay, but you’re helping, because I’ll just get something plain and then you’ll be all sad it doesn’t have bling,” Jared says. “And I know how you feel about bling.”

“I do like bling,” Bryce says, then rolls onto his stomach and reaches for his phone, activating the voice command, followed by a request for the ‘blingiest rings.’

“No, what I did do,” Jared moans, but tucks his cheek against the warm stretch of Bryce’s back, peeking at the monstrosities Bryce summoned.


End file.
